Mafia Boss and Innocence

The city was alive with noise—cars honking, people talking, vendors shouting across the streets. You and your two best friends were walking down the main avenue, weaving through the crowd as you headed toward the mall. There was only one thing on your mind: the stunning pair of high heels you saw last week, the ones that called to you like a siren.

You were mid-laugh, teasing your friend about the last guy she ghosted, when all three of you stopped in your tracks. The sidewalk ahead seemed to grow quieter, even though the city hadn’t paused. A group of men had appeared out of nowhere, dressed in sleek black suits, sunglasses despite the overcast sky. They didn’t speak, didn’t move fast, but their presence was like a magnetic field—drawing attention and paralyzing the air.

Tall. Broad. Dangerous.

But one of them stood out.

He didn’t have to speak to command obedience; the air around him did it for him. He stood a little ahead of the others, his posture relaxed but alert. Jet-black hair, slicked back. A cigarette rested between his fingers, smoke curling lazily in the air. But it was the scar—jagged and unforgiving—that ran down the right side of his face that stole your breath.

You heard a shaky breath beside you.

“Who are they?” you asked, your voice low but steady. “Why is everyone suddenly terrified?”

Your friend leaned toward you, her voice barely a whisper. “They’re the mafia. The one in front… that’s Massimo.”

“Massimo?”

“Massimo De Luca,” she said like the name itself was a curse. “He’s their leader. Cold. Cruel. No one crosses him and lives. That scar? He got it killing the man who betrayed his family. He’s not just dangerous—he enjoys it.”

Your eyes drifted back to him. The way he carried himself—it was commanding, but there was something magnetic in the way he stood among his men, completely in control. The scar should’ve made him look terrifying. But instead, something in you stirred.

Scary? you thought. My God, you’re divine.

You didn’t realize you’d said it out loud until Massimo’s eyes flicked toward you.

Gray. Piercing. Ice and steel all at once.

Your breath caught in your throat. He stared directly at you. People backed away instinctively, but he didn’t look at them. Only at you. You weren’t sure if it was curiosity or amusement that flashed in his gaze. He tilted his head slightly, a smirk curling one corner of his lips.

And then, he laughed.

The sound was dark, rich, almost mocking. He took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it onto the pavement. His eyes never left yours.

Before you could look away, he was walking toward you.

Every step he took made your heart pound louder in your chest. He didn’t rush. He didn’t have to. His presence alone made the space around you shrink until it felt like you were the only two people left in the city.

Then he was right in front of you.

His eyes slowly scanned your face like he was memorizing every detail. His hand—large, warm—settled on your waist. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t move. You should’ve, but something about him made you forget what fear was supposed to feel like.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said, his voice low and velvet-smooth. More observation than question.

You blinked, searching for words, but none came. Your silence didn’t bother him.

Massimo leaned in, his lips so close to your ear that his breath brushed your skin. “Interesting.”

Then, just like that, he pulled away.

“Don’t be late for your shopping,” he said casually, then turned his back on you like nothing had happened.

Your legs felt like they might give out.

“Let’s go,” your friend whispered harshly, grabbing your arm. You walked away, but you could feel his gaze on you—like a brand, burning through your skin.

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him. The way he stared. The low, almost amused tone of his voice. The warmth of his hand on your hip. You’d never met a man like him—so powerful, so unapologetically dangerous… and yet, you hadn’t looked away.

You’d held his gaze.

Meanwhile…

Massimo sat behind the large mahogany desk in his office, but his mind was far from business. The numbers in front of him blurred as images of your face kept returning to him. The curiosity in your eyes. The lack of fear. The words you whispered when you first saw him—he’d heard them.

“Divine,” he repeated to himself, almost incredulous.

He lit another cigarette, something he rarely did twice in a day. You were different. Everyone else cowered. You didn’t. That intrigued him more than he was willing to admit. And that amused him.

But more than anything, it bothered him.

Because he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

“Find her,” he told his right-hand man, who stood silently nearby. “Bring her to me. Tonight.”

The man nodded and disappeared without a word.

Massimo stared out the window, his jaw clenched.

She looked at me like I was human, he thought. I need to know why.